“She’s your sister.”
And whenever I pushed harder:
“Family helps family.”
That sentence became a weapon.
If I resisted anything, I was selfish.
If Mia wanted something, I was expected to provide it.
If Karen criticized me and I defended myself, suddenly I was disrespectful.
So I kept swallowing everything.
Until dinner.
After I told Mia she had to leave, she stared at me for several seconds.
Then laughed.
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“Because I made one joke?”
“Because you’ve been living here for over a year.”
Karen leaned forward.
“Thomas, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not.”
“She has nowhere to go.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You can’t just throw family into the street.”
I stood, picked up my plate, and looked directly at her.
“Watch me.”
The next morning, someone hammered on my bedroom door.
7:12 a.m.
I opened it.
Mia stood there wearing my hoodie, arms crossed.
